"That is a tea-gown; I think I will put it on now," said Rose.

"It will be so comfortable, and you are not formal here, are you ?" "Eh ?" "You are not formal here in East Westland, are you ?" "No," replied Sylvia, "we ain't formal.

So you want to put on--this ?" "Yes, I think I will." Sylvia laid the tea-gown on the bed, and turned to the trunk again.
"You know, of course, that Aunt Abrahama and mamma were estranged for years before mamma died," said Rose.

She sat before the white dressing-table watching Sylvia, and the lovely turn of her neck and her blond head were reflected in the glass above the vase of flowers.
"Yes, I knew something about it." "I never did know much, except that Aunt Abrahama did not approve of mamma's marriage, and we never saw her nor heard of her.

Wasn't it strange," she went on, confidentially, "how soon after poor mamma's death all my money came to me ?" Sylvia turned on her.